scraps

adam trask and i drove through Kansas, and we chatted with jean valjean. samuel hamilton was in the wind. nils and sarah michals are parents. ben and elle tyler are one.



















by all means, feed the children: do not starve them to feed the dogs. but it sure is nice when crumbs fall past the lost sheep and off of the table. the children don’t earn their bread: it is given from love, not merit, but it is given gladly—if through toil, then gladly still—and their joy is the joy of the parents. so when cain was told “if you do well, will you not be accepted?” i wonder if he had forgotten to be a child, but rather made himself a slave or a dog. “behold, the feet!” “for after it was sold, was it not at your disposal?” i can’t believe that she was a dog. i can’t believe that the conversation was in earnest; there were other sheep not of this fold—one flock, one shepherd—and yet she would be a dog. there is plenty, even for those who sincerely believe that they are dogs. even still, to hear “be it done for you as you desire” is stunning. in those days the dogs were made children—and children who take their case before neither cain nor ananias. perhaps such a dog honors its master most by crawling out from under the table and finally taking a seat.